


Soothed

by Lady_Therion



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Elriel, F/M, Nessian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: Elain soothes Azriel’s frayed edges.





	Soothed

Azriel’s hazel eyes scanned the crowded ballroom, his shadows roiling in agitation. The surrounding courtiers had given him a wide berth, returning his dark looks with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

That wasn’t unexpected. The courtiers may have been fae, but they belonged to the kingdom of Rask—and it had been near a millennia since an Illyrian had set foot on their soil.

Now they were playing host to two of the most powerful Illyrians in history. Illyrians who could lay waste not only to Rask’s imperial palace, but also its surrounding capital with nothing but a thought.

“You’re looking extra melancholy tonight.”

Azriel cast his brother a withering glare as he pressed a glass of clear, amber liquid into his hand.

“Go on,” said Cassian, his shit-eating grin beaming at full force. “Don’t make me force it down your throat. It’ll take some of the edge off.”

Azriel tightened his jaw. “I can handle this.”

“I’m not saying you can’t handle this,” said Cassian. “I only meant that your murderous brooding is scaring these tittering highborns shitless.”

“Speak for yourself.”

But Cassian went on like the stubborn ass that he was.

“I know I’m a bastard for saying this, but we need to play nice if we want these pricks to give us what we came here for.”

“You’re right,” said Azriel, shoving the drink back into Cassian’s hand. “You _are_ a bastard.”

“Through and through,” said Cassian, as he knocked back the drink in one gulp. His lips curled in distaste. “This fancy shit is appalling.” He tossed the glass aside on a passing servant’s tray. “Back home, Nesta would always fix me up something nice after my training sessions. I’d give anything to have her herbal teas over this pisswater. Mother’s tits, I fucking miss her.”

Azriel arched a brow at the abrupt change of subject.

“What?” Cassian shrugged. “A grown male can’t admit to missing the love of his gods-damned life?”

The shadowsinger could almost _hear_ Nesta’s exasperated sigh from across the sea.

“You miss her too, don’t you?” asked Cassian.

Azriel knew exactly who his brother meant, but decided to taunt him anyway.

“Of course I do,” he said. “My heart belonged to Nesta from the moment I laid eyes on her.”

The hard jab that Cassian aimed at his shoulder would bruise later, but Azriel held his ground and didn’t so much as stumble.

“Come off it,” snarled Cassian. “You’re telling me you haven’t _once_ thought about Elain since coming to the Continent?”

Azriel said nothing. Not because there was nothing to be said, but because there were no words that could even _begin_ to describe how much the doe-eyed seer had utterly consumed his thoughts and wrecked his senses.

He didn’t just miss her.

He _needed_ her.

He needed her like a man lost in a desert needed water, his mind buzzing with a single-minded longing for relief. It was all he could do to fall asleep at night and not take himself in hand as he thought about her skin, her hair, her _scent_...

She drove him mad with wanting, something he had never experienced since his folly in loving Morrigan.

They had called themselves friends after the war with Hybern. Then somewhere along the line, they began to call themselves lovers. Their affection had taken root deep inside their broken hearts, then somehow blossomed into a passion and yearning that took their breath away.

But calling Elain his lover was not enough. Should they ever decide to take vows, calling her his wife would not be enough either. There was no Cauldron-blessed bond between them, which meant they weren’t mates.

Yet even if she wasn’t his mate by destiny, she was his mate by choice. For better or for worse, they were family. And to use Rhys’ words, it was the family that you make that matters.

Cassian landed another jab to his shoulder, knocking him loose from his reverie.

“Are you even paying attention to me?” he growled.

It wasn’t the first time that evening Azriel weighed the political loss and gain of causing a scene. He almost wished Nesta was there so that she could put the General in his place. But before he could deliver a cutting remark that no doubt ignite the rising tension, Feyre had glided in between them.

“If I have to ask the two of you to behave, not even Rhysand will be able to save you from the wailing I’ll give you both later.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, while Azriel coughed delicately into his hand. Being brothers, they often bickered—and brawled—in public. But this wasn’t Prythian. They couldn’t rely on their reputations, famous as they were, to see them through the perils of navigating a foreign court. As Spymaster, Azriel knew better than anyone that one mistake could put their mission in jeopardy.

And for Elain’s sake, he couldn’t afford to do that.

“Feeling a little restless tonight, are we boys?” Feyre’s blue-grey eyes gleamed with an expression that mirrored Rhysand’s when he was up to no good. “Missing someone special?”

They glanced away, embarrassed. Two warriors with over half a millennia of battles and bloodshed under their belts, and they were undone by the mere mention of their High Lady’s sisters. As if there was ever any question as to who owned their worn and weary hearts.

“I understand,” said Feyre. “And while I find your sentiments _incredibly_ endearing, I don’t need to remind you that my sisters are the reason why we’re here in the first place.” She placed her inked hands on the hips of her glittering gown. “This is more than a mission to me. This is retribution. This is a _hunt_.”  

At that, their eyes darkened.

The wyrm-queens were out there. They were very well adept at hiding, but they were out there. Neither Azriel or Cassian would ever forget the day the queens had taken part in Elain and Nesta’s violation. Their screams as they were tossed into that gods-forsaken Cauldron would haunt them for years yet. Just thinking on it now made their blood boil and their Siphons flicker.

Which was likely Feyre’s intention in the first place.

She was right. They needed to focus. They needed to glean information. But just as they were about to apologize, her expression softened and that wicked gleam returned.

“Fortunately for you, Rhys and I have taken pity on your sorry asses.”

Cassian frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Turn around.”

They did.

And not even the sight of the Mother herself would have left them more shocked.

Because staring down at them from the top of a winding double staircase, were Nesta and Elain. And if the sight of their deviously satisfied faces wasn’t enough to make their hearts stop, it was the color of their gowns that did them in: each one was dressed to match the color of their Siphons. Elain in cobalt blue and Nesta in crimson red.

“Isn’t Nesta supposed to be in Montesere?” asked Cassian.

“I thought Elain was supposed to be in the Dawn Court,” added Azriel.  

“Did you _really_ think my sisters wouldn’t take part in this?” said Feyre. “The one who put a dagger through Hybern’s throat and the one who claimed Hybern’s head a trophy? Their stake in this is as just as personal as ours is. Perhaps even more so. So they invited themselves along.” She lowered her voice. “The fact that they also get to see you needy idiots is an added bonus.”

Azriel would have expected Cassian to give some blustering retort, but the General-Commander was already barrelling up one side of the staircase—and damn any of the nobles that got in his way.

They parted for him like the sea as he reached to the top of the landing to pull Nesta to him, hands cupping either side of her face in a way that made it seem like they were the only two people in the world. To her credit, Nesta did not shy away from his touch, and leaned in to whisper something in his ear that made him take her hand and stride away as though his heels had caught on fire. Feyre laughed as onlookers gaped and gawked after them.

And while they gaped and gawked, Azriel took that moment to step into the shadows and appear seconds later behind Elain.

The seer whirled around to greet him as he placed his scarred hands around the dip of her waist. He guided her gently, walking her backward until she was leaning against the bannister, caged between his arms. She smiled at him then. That smile that could somehow chase away every dark moment he carried inside him.

“You’re here,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I’m here,” she said, eyes shuttering as she wound her arms around his neck.

Azriel breathed her in deep, catching the scent of earth and flowers on her. It thawed something in him he hadn’t realized was frozen until she arrived. Her nearness was intoxicating, urging him to press a trail of slow kisses along the column of her throat. He savored it. Every sigh. Every hitch in her breath. It was like waking up after a long sleep. It was like coming alive.

He flared his wings around them so that he could trace the delicate whorl of her ear with his tongue. She made the sweetest sounding moan, like the peal of a bell. Her blush spread all the way down to her bosom, making him impatient to see where else he could make her blush. The thought alone made his cock stir in ways neither of them could ignore.

“Elain,” he said, his voice strained. “I need you.”

She reached down to intertwine her lovely fingers with his scarred ones, the contrast between them so stark it made him queasy. But Elain only kissed the tops of his knuckles—kissed them and nuzzled against them like she had been waiting centuries to do so.

“You already have me,” she said.

He claimed her lips, hard and possessive, catching her a little bit with his teeth. He groaned when she buried a hand in his hair, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that she had it all wrong.

She was the one who had _him_.

Always.

* * *

With past lovers, Azriel made a point to always maintain control. It was a way to protect himself—to keep every trauma and tragedy he endured locked away in a windowless cell. His soul was too fragile, too broken, and too wounded to be exposed in such a way. But with Elain it was different.

There was a thread of trust there, a thread as true as any mating bond even if they didn’t have one. Trust that had solidified and strengthened over time. She could _see_ him in a way that his own brothers couldn’t. Just as he could see her in a way her own sisters couldn’t comprehend. They bared their souls to one another, the darkest and lightest parts of themselves, and they did not turn away.

Which was why when they winnowed to his quarters, kissing and panting like two animals in heat, Azriel slackened his leash. Only Elain could ever rouse him so, her presence like the wide and open air of a clear sky. In her arms, he was safe. In her arms, he was free.

So he walked her backwards, unlacing her gown as much as he could. His leathers were only halfway off when her legs hit the back of a sofa. Her bubbly laughter was infectious when he grasped her sides, running his hands along the planes of her ribs before tearing her corset in half.

His mouth watered at the sight of her full breasts, the rosy tips peaking under his rapt gaze.

“These,” he crooned softly. “I dreamed of these…”

He took one in his mouth, tongue circling and circling before suckling deep. She gasped as she arched into him, her half-naked body wanton and wanting. Without breaking contact, he reached beneath them to lift up her skirts, his questing fingers slipping between her thighs to discover nothing but bare skin.

She had worn nothing underneath and damn him if his cock didn’t just get _harder._

“Elain,” he said, guttural and desperate. “I need to be inside you, but I’m not going to last. But I just want you to know...even after I’m done, _you_ won’t be.”

He sealed his promise by getting on his knees, kissing the damp curls between her legs before feasting on her deliciously swollen flesh. He could get drunk on this—the taste and smell of her arousal, her astonished moans that could probably be heard from the end of the guests’ wing. Azriel didn’t mind, however. He wanted Elain to be loud and lustful. He wanted everyone to know how much her shadowsinger pleased her.

He tapered off his licking when he felt her clench her thighs. She was close, so very close to the edge of her release. But as much as he wanted to bring her there, he wanted to dive into that golden abyss with her.

She mewled when he removed his mouth from her, turning her around so that she was bent over the sofa. He would have later tonight, tomorrow morning, _all of their lives_ to make their love soft and gentle and sweet, to worship and fuck and revere her in every way she deserved. But right now, he was feeling selfish and greedy. He’d been away from her for too long and he wanted to take her hard and fast.

“Azriel...please...please.”

He undid the rest of his leathers until he sprung free, groaning like a dying man when he pushed himself into her. She was _drenched_ for him, her gorgeous cunt wet and yielding. He held his breath, trying to delay himself from coming as he sunk into her inch by inch.

He was right; he wasn’t going to last. But it had been ages since he had been inside her and the feeling of her around him, so tight and wet, was enough to shatter his mind into oblivion. It had to be a sin, he thought, to feel this good.

But as much as he wanted to draw out their bliss, he couldn’t stop his hips from pistoning into her. Steady, at first. Then faster. Then hard and relentless. He pounded himself into her, and she pushed herself against him. Matching him stroke for stroke—such untapped strength and power in such a lithe and supple body.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she cried, in time with his merciless thrusts.

He trembled, the crest of his climax rising higher and higher with each of her passionate declarations. And then he was _coming_ , free-falling into paradise and pure ecstasy. She came with him, milking him and pulsing around him he coaxed out another wet rush of her desire. Even when he was done, he kept going—trying to prolong as much of her pleasure as possible.

She whimpered as he rained kisses along her bare back, her skin slightly salty from the sweat of their exertions. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled himself out of her, wincing as his love mewled at the loss of him. But he turned her around and pulled her boneless body into his embrace, kissing the top of her head to reassure her that she wouldn’t feel the loss of him for long.

She smiled against him. The smile that could light up his soul like the break of day. The smile he carried with him whenever he was too lost in his own dark, spiraling void.

“Feel better?” she asked.

He laughed and then kissed her again—a long and lingering kiss he hoped would convey at least a fraction of his devotion.

“A little,” he said, finally. “But I can think of a few _other_ ways I can be soothed.”


End file.
